The Adventures of Liza Holmes
by jam-kittens-rage
Summary: Liza Holmes is Sherlock's 17 year old niece. She is not Mycroft's daughter though. She is the daughter of Sherlock and Mycroft's deceased sister, Sarafina Holmes. Basically I stuck Liza into the original episodes of Sherlock, cause I'm just that creative. Read and review! **I do NOT own Sherlock. I only own Sarafina and Liza Holmes.**
1. Chapter 1 - A Study in Pink

_**Hey everyone! This is my first fan fiction ever so I'm kind of nervous about sharing it. Liza Holmes is Sherlock Holmes' 17 year old niece. She is not Mycroft's daughter though. She is the daughter of Sherlock and Mycroft's deceased sister, Sarafina Holmes. I hope you enjoy it and don't forget to review! Btw, I'm American, so if I get some of the "British lingo" wrong, let me know and ill fix it. **I do not own Sherlock! I only own Sarafina and Liza Holmes!** (Cred for Transcript: Ariane DeVere on Livejournal.)**_

Liza's POV

I woke up to the sound of my Uncle Sherlock downstairs playing the violin again. I mean sometimes it's really calming to listen to but other times I just want to run downstairs and break it against a wall. He's looking for a flat mate because apparently I'm not good enough… (Sarcasm). Honestly though, he's never going to find someone who can deal with how crazy we are. Beakers cluttering the kitchen, chemicals in the milk, heads and body parts in the fridge. Honestly it's like a mad house in here! Anyways. I got up and got dressed when the music stopped. I could hear him coming up the stairs.

"I'm going down to Bart's for a while. Coming or not?" I could practically hear his eyes rolling behind the door.

"Yes just give me a minute." He sighs loudly and walks away.

After a couple of minutes, I walked downstairs to find him waiting by the door.

"Well it's about time." He says putting on his scarf.

"Oh shut up, you love me." I say, walking past him out the door.

We got into the cab and told the driver to take us to St. Bart's Hospital. When we got there, I got out but Uncle Sherlock stayed in.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I have somewhere else I have to go first. You won't mind waiting here, will you?" He said with a smirk.

"Sure, I guess not…"

"Good. Be right back."

And with that, he shut the door and the cabbie drove off.

"Typical…" I sighed and walked into the building.

About an hour and a half later, he arrived back at St. Bart's.

"What was that all about? I've been waiting here forever!" I exaggerated.

"Oh calm yourself, it wasn't that long. I just had some… business to take care of."

"Uh huh…" I sighed.

We walked into the morgue and he went over to a body bag in the middle of the room and unzipped it. I figured this wouldn't take long but I pulled up a stool anyways. Just about that time, Molly walked in. Molly Hooper is a pathologist that works at Bart's. (Has a huge crush on my Uncle Sherlock, by the way.) She's nice and sweet and somewhat shy, especially around Uncle Sherlock. But, I found she's easy to talk to and a very good listener.

"How fresh?" He asks her.

"Just in. Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice." She says.

Uncle Sherlock zips the bag back up and turns and smiles at Molly.

"Fine. We'll start with the riding crop."

* * *

I sat and watched as Uncle Sherlock stood there beating the body with a riding crop. Don't get me wrong, I love my Uncle. But sometimes his methods of doing things are… well, shocking. After he had finished, Molly came back down to where Uncle Sherlock was.

"So, bad day, was it?" She asks jokingly.

Uncle Sherlock ignored her and started writing something in a notebook he pulled out of his pocket. I leaned over his shoulder to sneak a glance but he pulled the notebook closer to his chest and turned his head to glare at me. I raised my hands up in mock surrender and rolled my eyes. He turned back to his notebook.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me." He says to Molly. She looks at him.

"Listen, I was wondering: maybe later, when you're finished…"

"Are you wearing lipstick?" he interrupts. "You weren't wearing lipstick before."

"I, er, I refreshed it a bit." She smiles.

By now it's pretty obvious she's flirting, but he gives her an oblivious look and goes back to writing in his notebook.

"Sorry, you were saying?"

Molly stares at him intently and says,

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee."

I look from Molly to Uncle Sherlock, but instead of catching on, captain oblivious replies,

"Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs."

At that he turns and walks away. I follow him out the door and into the hallway.

"You know she was asking you out, right? And you basically just turned her down." He looks at me.

"Who? When?" He asks, knowing exactly what I was talking about.

I roll my eyes. "You're such a prick…"

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a smirk on his face.

_**AN: So what do you think so far? This is only the first part of A Study in Pink. We'll be getting to the part where Sherlock and Liza meet John in the next chapter. Remember. Reviews make me happy. :)**_


	2. Chapter 2 - Meeting John

_****I do not own Sherlock. I just own Sarafina and Liza Holmes.****_

Chapter 2

Upstairs in the lab while Uncle Sherlock is busy experimenting on something, I'm sitting on a chair across from him watching him intently. He looks at something through a microscope and says,

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

"I'm just interested in what you're doing. That's all." I said.

He gives me a light "hmm" and goes back to dropping liquid in a Petri dish. Then I hear a knock at the door. Mike Stamford and a man I've never seen before walk in. 'Considering the military haircut and slight limp, it looks like he just got back from a war…' Military man, as I had dubbed him, looks around and says,

"Well, bit different from my day."

Mike chuckles slightly. "You've no idea."

Just then Uncle Sherlock interrupts.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine."

"And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike asks.

"I prefer to text." Uncle Sherlock responds.

"Sorry. It's in my coat." Mike says.

Before I could say anything, military man takes his phone out of his pocket and holds it out to Uncle Sherlock.

"Er, here. Use mine."

"Oh. Thank you." Uncle Sherlock look up at Mike and walks over and grabs the phone from military man.

"It's an old friend of mine, John Watson." Mike says.

'So military man has a name after all…' I think to myself.

After Uncle Sherlock takes "John's" phone, he starts to type.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John frowns and looks at Uncle Sherlock.

"Sorry?"

"Which is it – Afghanistan or Iraq?" Uncle Sherlock says as he glances at John and then goes back to the phone.

John looks at Mike and then back to Uncle Sherlock.

"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know…?"

Just then Molly walks in holding a mug of coffee and a bottle of water, interrupting John. Uncle Sherlock looks up from the phone.

"Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you."

He shuts John's phone and hands it back to him as he goes to take the mug from Molly. I can see from where I am that she had removed the lipstick she had "refreshed" from earlier.

"What happened to the lipstick?" Uncle Sherlock asks.

Molly awkwardly smiles and says,

"It wasn't working for me."

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement." he says. "Your mouths too small now."

I shake my head as he takes a sip from his coffee and grimaces.

"…Okay." Molly says.

She walks over to me and hands me the bottle of water.

"I didn't know if you liked coffee so I got you some water. Hope that's alright?"

"No, no that's fine. Thank you, Molly." I said politely, making sure to flash a glare at Uncle Sherlock. He ignores my look and continues on with John.

"How do you feel about the violin?"

John looks towards Molly as she leaves, then back at Mike, and back to Uncle Sherlock.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." He looks at John. "Would that bother you?"

I chose that moment to take a big drink from my water. Big mistake.

"Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other."

I accidentally inhale and start choking on my water.

'Potential flat mates?! Is he insane?' I think to myself as I'm coughing up my lungs.

Slowly coming back from almost choking to death on my water, I find that every eye in the room is on me.

"Good lord, Liza. Try not to inhale it all at once." Uncle Sherlock says. I glare at him.

"Flat mates? Who said anything about flat mates? When did we discuss this?"

"I thought you knew?" Uncle Sherlock replies.

"I did but c'mon Uncle Sherlock," I whisper. "We don't even know the man and you're already wanting to rent a flat with him?"

John chooses that time to ask Mike,

"Oh you… you told him about me?"

"Not a word." Mike replies.

John turns back to Uncle Sherlock and me.

"Then she's right. Who said anything about flat mates?"

Uncle Sherlock walks over to put his coat on and waves me towards him.

"I did. Told Mike this morning that I…" he looks down at me, "we must be a difficult pair to find a flat mate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap."

"How did you know about Afghanistan?" John asks.

Ignoring his question, Uncle Sherlock wraps his scarf around his neck and picks up his mobile. He checks it and says,

"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it. Heaven knows Liza can't be bothered to get a job and help out."

"Oi!"

He ignores me and turns and walks over to John.

"We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary. Come Liza."

He waves me over to the door.

"I'm not a dog…"

"Is that it?" I hear John ask as we're heading out the door.

"Is that what?" Uncle Sherlock asks.

"We've only just met and we're gonna go look at a flat?"

"Problem?" Uncle Sherlock asks.

John smiles and looks at Mike and then back to Uncle Sherlock.

"We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your names."

Uncle Sherlock looks closely at John.

"I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother whose worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid."

I turn and look at John as he looks at his leg and shuffles his feet awkwardly.

"That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?"

Uncle Sherlock walks out the door but leans back.

"The names Sherlock Holmes and this is Liza Holmes," pointing at me. "and the address is 221B Baker Street."

He click-winks at John and turns back to Mike.

"Afternoon."

At that we walked out. I turned to him.

"Well that was interesting…"

He let out a small "hmm" and kept walking.


	3. Chapter 3 - Deducing John

_****I do not own Sherlock. I only own Sarafina and Liza Holmes.****_

Chapter 3

The next day, we came back from Bart's again and saw John walking towards 221B. The cab stops in front of the door and Uncle Sherlock and I get out.

"Hello." Uncle Sherlock says as he stops to pay the cabbie. The cab drives off and I hear John say,

"Ah, Mr. and Ms. Holmes."

"Sherlock, please." Uncle Sherlock says as he and John shake hands.

"And Liza, actually." I speak up.

"Alright, Liza. Pleasure to meet you."

"And you as well." I reply back.

"Well this is a prime spot. Must be expensive." John says.

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favour. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out." Uncle Sherlock replies.

"Sorry, you stopped her husband being executed?"

"Oh no. I ensured it."

Uncle Sherlock smiles at John as the front door opens to reveal a smiling Mrs. Hudson. She looks at him and opens her arms to hug Uncle Sherlock.

"Sherlock, hello." Uncle Sherlock accepts her hug briefly and steps back.

This time she opens her arms to hug me. I welcome it.

"Mrs. Hudson, Doctor John Watson." Uncle Sherlock introduces John to Mrs. Hudson.

"Hello." She says to John.

"How do?" John replies. She then gestures John inside.

"Come in."

John says, "Thank you." and walks in.

"Shall we?" Uncle Sherlock asks Mrs. Hudson.

"Yeah." Mrs. Hudson replies.

We all walk inside and Uncle Sherlock and I trot upstairs while John hobbles up the stairs after us. Uncle Sherlock opens the door and we walk into the flat. John looks around the room and says,

"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed."

"Yes. Yes I think so. My thoughts precisely." Uncle Sherlock says as he happily takes a look around the flat.

"So we went straight ahead and moved in." Uncle Sherlock says as John simultaneously says,

"Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out… Oh." I look at John as he pauses.

'Awkward…' I think to myself as I watch them from my spot on the couch.

"So this is all…" John starts.

"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit." Uncle Sherlock says.

He walks across the room and I watch as he throws some folders into a box. I get up, deciding that I should probably help since I helped create some of this mess, and pick up some unopened envelopes and put them on the mantelpiece. As an added measure I take a knife that was sitting there and stabbed it into the stack of envelopes. Uncle Sherlock briefly nods his approval and keeps cleaning. John lifts up his cane and points to 'Finnegan the Skull', as I had named him.

"That's a skull."

"Friend of mine. When I say 'friend'…" Uncle Sherlock replies shrugging.

"I call him Finnegan." I say proudly.

John smiles and Uncle Sherlock just rolls his eyes. I stick my tongue out at him as Mrs. Hudson comes into the room.

"What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be _needing_ two bedrooms."

I stifle a giggle as John throws a puzzled look at Mrs. Hudson. Uncle Sherlock just rolls his eyes _again_ as he takes off his coat and scarf.

"Of _course_ we'll be needing two."

"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here," her voice drops down to a whisper. "Mrs. Turner next doors got married ones." Mrs. Hudson says to John.

John just turns to Uncle Sherlock expecting him to say something, but he doesn't. He just looks as oblivious as always. Mrs. Hudson walks into the kitchen and frowns at Uncle Sherlock.

"Oh, Sherlock. The mess you've made."

She starts tidying up as John walks over to one of the armchairs and plops himself on it. He looks at Uncle Sherlock, who's still tidying up.

"I looked you up on the internet last night."

I frown and look at Uncle Sherlock to see what his reaction is. He just turns to John and says,

"Anything interesting?"

"Found your website, The Science of Deduction."

Uncle Sherlock smiles proudly.

"What did you think?"

I look to John as he gives Uncle Sherlock one of those incredulous looks.

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb."

"Oh he can." I jump in. "I've seen it. It's very interesting."

"Thank you, Liza. But you're still helping me clean later…" Uncle Sherlock says back.

"Dang it…" I fold my arms and pout, but he just rolls his eyes and turns to John.

"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brothers drinking habits in your mobile phone."

"How?" John asks.

Uncle Sherlock just smiles and turns away. Mrs. Hudson comes back from the kitchen reading the newspaper.

"What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same."

Uncle Sherlock walks up to the window.

"Four. There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."

I get up and walk over to where he's standing at the window.

"A fourth?" Mrs. Hudson asks sounding slightly confused.

I turn from the window to see Lestrade coming up the stairs.

"Where?" Uncle Sherlock asks.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." Lestrade replies.

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different."

"You know how they never leave notes?"

"Yeah."

"This one did. Will you come?"

"Who's on forensics?"

'Please don't be Anderson. Please don't be Anderson.' I plead to myself.

"It's Anderson." Lestrade replies.

'Of course it is…' I think to myself.

I think Uncle Sherlock was thinking the same thing because he grimaced at the same time I did. Either that or it was wind.

"Anderson won't work with me."

"Well he won't be your assistant." Lestrade persuades.

"I _need_ an assistant."

"I'll be your assistant." I say to Uncle Sherlock.

He looks at me, sort of like he's contemplating it when Lestrade interrupts.

"Will you come?"

"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind." Uncle Sherlock says.

"Thank you."

Lestrade looks around at me, John, and Mrs. Hudson before hurrying downstairs. As soon as Lestrade left, Uncle Sherlock leapt into the air and twirled around the room, something I thought I'd never see him do.

"Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!"

I realized it wasn't one of the happiest situations in the world, but his reaction brought a smile to my face and I ran to get my jacket. He does the same and yells in the kitchen,

"Mrs. Hudson, we'll be late. Might need some food."

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper." Mrs. Hudson replies.

"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!"

By then I was ready and Uncle Sherlock and I headed downstairs. We were halfway to the door when I heard John yell something like, "Damn my leg!" but I wasn't quite sure. Uncle Sherlock looks at me.

"Wait here." He says as he heads back upstairs.

I sigh, but stay put. A few minutes later I hear Uncle Sherlock and John coming down the stairs.

"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, ill skip the tea. Off out." John says.

Mrs. Hudson stands at the bottom of the stairs.

"All of you?" She asks

Uncle Sherlock is about to reach the door when he turns around and walks back towards Mrs. Hudson.

"Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something _fun_ going on!" He says as he grabs her by the shoulders and kisses her on the cheek.

"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." Mrs. Hudson smiles

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!" Uncle Sherlock says as he walks out the door.

I smile and run out to catch up to him as he hails a cab. It stops by the curb and all three of us climb in, I being seated in the middle, of course. Uncle Sherlock takes out his phone and starts messing around with it, I sit there and twiddle my thumbs, and John keeps glancing over at Uncle Sherlock.

'Get a little more obvious there John?' I think to myself as I try not to smile.

Uncle Sherlock puts down his phone and says,

"Okay, you've got questions."

I assumed that was directed towards John, so I looked over at him.

"Yeah, where are we going?"

"Crime scene. Next?" Uncle Sherlock says.

"Who are you? What do you do?"

"What do you think?"

John takes his time to think of an answer.

"I'd say private detective…"

"But?"

"… but the police don't go to private detectives."

"I'm a _consulting_ detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job."

"What does that mean?" John asks.

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always,"

"Not _always_…" I correct.

He looks at me and I look at him. I cock an eyebrow and he continues.

"… _most_ of the time, they consult me."

"The police don't consult amateurs." John says.

I giggle and Uncle Sherlock gives John a look.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' you looked surprised."

"Yes, how _did_ you know?" John asks.

I love when people ask that and I think Uncle Sherlock enjoys it too. I sit back and watch him go to work.

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room…"

I flashbacked to Bart's and the way John had said, "Bit different from my day" and went back to the conversation.

"… said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but not sun bathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq." He finished with a loud "k" sound from 'Iraq'.

I felt like clapping, but I knew he was far from finished.

"You said I had a therapist." John said.

"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother."

"Hmm?"

Uncle Sherlock holds his hand out and John hands Uncle Sherlock his phone.

"Your phone. Its expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flat share – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift then." He turns it over and continues.

"Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to Liza and I wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bits easy. You know it already."

"The engraving." John says.

I look over and see the words,

_Harry Watson_

_From Clara_

_Xxx_

"Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. _Could_ be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this models only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left _him_, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But not, he wanted rid of it. He left _her_. He gave the phone to _you_: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you _don't_ like his drinking." Uncle Sherlock rambles.

"How can you _possibly_ know about the drinking?" John asks. Uncle Sherlock smirks.

"Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scruff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see these marks on a sober man's phone; you never see a drunks without them." He hands the phone back to John.

"There you go, you see – you were right."

"_I_ was right? Right about what?" John asks confused.

"The police don't consult amateurs." Uncle Sherlock says as he looks out the window.

I turn to John and wait for a response.

"That… was amazing."

Both Uncle Sherlock and I jump slightly and look at John, surprised at what he said. Uncle Sherlock waits and asks,

"Do you think so?"

"Of _course_ it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary." John replies.

I stare at him, mouth agape as Uncle Sherlock says,

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?" John asks.

"'Piss off'!"

Uncle Sherlock smiles and John does the same as he turns and looks out the window. I give a little smile as I lean my head against Uncle Sherlock's shoulder and close my eyes. Sometime later, the cabbie stops at Lauriston Gardens and we get out and walk towards the scene.

"Did I get anything wrong?" Uncle Sherlock asks John.

"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker."

Uncle Sherlock looks impressed with himself. Frankly, I'm impressed as well. Usually he gets at least something wrong.

"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything."

I do an air quote motion with my fingers and Uncle Sherlock just keeps walking.

"And Harry's short for Harriet."

Uncle Sherlock stops suddenly. I also stop and look at John.

"What?" I ask.

"Harry's your sister." Uncle Sherlock says.

John keeps walking and asks,

"Look, what exactly and I supposed to be doing here?"

Uncle Sherlock grits his teeth and says,

"_Sister!_"

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?" John asks, ignoring Uncle Sherlock.

Uncle Sherlock looks exasperated but keeps walking.

"There's always something."

We approach the police tape and I see Sergeant Donovan standing there.

"Oh yay…" I mumble sarcastically.

"Hello, freak." She says.

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." Uncle Sherlock replies, ignoring her greeting.

"Why?"

"I was invited."

"_Why?_"

Uncle Sherlock looks at her and replies sarcastically,

"I think he wants me to take a look."

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?"

"Always, Sally." He says and smells the air.

"I even know you didn't make it home last night."

"I don't…" She looks at John. "Er, who's this?"

"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson."

He turns to John and says,

"Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend." He says that last part sarcastically.

"A colleague? How did _you_ get a colleague?!" She asks turning to John. "What, did he follow you home?"

"Would it be better if I just waited and…" John starts.

Uncle Sherlock lifts up the police tape and says,

"No.".

John walks under the tape as Sally turns and looks at me.

"Sorry, no minors allowed at a crime scene."

"Hm. Weird that they'd let morons like you and Anderson in but not minors…" I said bitterly.

Uncle Sherlock smirked and turned to Donovan.

"She's with me. Come, Liza."

Donovan rolls her eyes and walks away. I walk under the tape and look at Uncle Sherlock.

"Would you quit calling me like a dog?!" I say.

He chuckles and keeps walking. I can hear Donovan say, "Freaks here. Bringing him in." into the radio.

"Did you know that if you frown like that all the time, your face could permanently stay like that?" I ask Donovan.

She turns to me and frowns.

"Oops, sorry. Too late." I say as we walk up to the house.

As we get closer, Anderson comes out.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again." Uncle Sherlock says to him.

Anderson looks at him distastefully and says,

"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" He turns to me. "I'm talking to you too, girl."

"Really? I thought that was just toward him?" I ask as I point to Uncle Sherlock.

Uncle Sherlock breathes in through his nose again and says,

"Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?"

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that." Anderson replied.

"Your deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant?"

Uncle Sherlock makes a quirky expression with his face and says,

"It's for men."

I snort and Anderson glares at me. He turns his attention back to Uncle Sherlock.

"Well, of course it's for men! _I'm _wearing it!"

"So's Sergeant Donovan." Uncle Sherlock says.

Anderson turns and looks at Donovan in shock as Uncle Sherlock sniffs pointedly.

"Ooh, and I think it just vaporized."

I smelled the air and plugged my nose, proving his point.

"May I go in?" He finishes.

Anderson turns to hi and points at him angrily.

"Now look: whatever you're trying to imply…"

"I'm not implying _anything_." He says as he walks towards the door. "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over."

He turns back and says,

"And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."

I laugh out loud and cover my mouth with my hand. Just as I was about to run inside, I had to look and savor the looks of horror on Anderson and Donovan's faces.

'Priceless.' I think to myself.

Uncle Sherlock leads us to a room where I see Lestrade putting on a coverall. Uncle Sherlock points to a pile of coveralls laying on a table in front of him and looks at John and me.

"You need to wear one of these."

I roll my eyes but take one anyways. Lestrade looks at John and back to Uncle Sherlock.

"Who's this?"

Uncle Sherlock looks questioningly at Lestrade.

"It's Liza. Don't you remember her?"

Lestrade rolls his eyes.

"I know who _she_ is. Who is he?"

"He's with me." Uncle Sherlock says as he takes off his gloves.

"But who is he?" Lestrade persists.

"I _said_ he's with me."

By that time both John and I have our coveralls on. John looks at Uncle Sherlock.

"Aren't you gonna put one on?"

Uncle Sherlock sternly glares at John and John just shakes his head.

"He never wears one." I assure John. I lower my voice to a whisper. "Might wrinkle his precious coat…"

John chuckles. Uncle Sherlock ignores us and asks Lestrade,

"So where are we?"

Lestrade picks up a pair of latex gloves and replies,

"Upstairs."

_**Sorry this was such a long chapter. Sherlock's deducing really took up a lot of space! Hope you like the story, even though there isn't much of Liza in it as I had hoped. I'm planning on, after this episode, putting in a little "backstory" on Liza, though. For those who are wondering. Let me know what you think of that. I love reviews!**_


	4. Chapter 4 - The Pink Lady

*_**I do not own Sherlock! I only own Sarafina and Liza Holmes.***_

Chapter 4

We walk up a spiral looking staircase as Uncle Sherlock puts on his gloves.

"I can give you two minutes." Lestrade says to Uncle Sherlock.

"May need more." Uncle Sherlock says casually.

"Her names Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her." Lestrade fills him in.

We walk into the room where they found her body. The room is basically empty, well, except for the furniture and the body. As we walked in the doorway I immediately knew she loved pink. How? Well, she's basically covered head to toe in pink clothing. It's actually quite disturbing how much pink she has on. Uncle Sherlock walks forward to focus more on the body. We stand there silently for a moment, mainly out of respect, when all of the sudden Uncle Sherlock looks at Lestrade and says,

"Shut up." Lestrade looks startled.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking. It's annoying." Both Lestrade and John look at each other surprisingly as Uncle Sherlock steps forward to examine the body.

I watch as he runs his fingers over her coat. He finds, what looks to be, an umbrella (not pink. Surprising…) in her pocket and inspects it. He does other things to inspect the body and after a few minutes he smiles.

"Got anything?" Lestrade asks.

"Not much." Uncle Sherlock says nonchalantly, even though I knew he had way more than 'Not much'.

Standing up, Uncle Sherlock takes off his gloves, takes out his phone, and starts typing. Suddenly, Anderson says from behind me,

"She's German. 'Rache': it's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something."

As he spoke, Uncle Sherlock started towards the door.

"Yes, thank you for your input." He says as he slams the door in Andersons face. I smile at him.

"So she's German?" Lestrade asks.

"Of course she's not. She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night…" he pauses and smiles at his phone. "…before returning home to Cardiff."

He then puts his phone back in his pocket and says,

"So far, so obvious."

"Sorry – obvious?" John asks, puzzled.

"What about the message, though?" Lestrade asks. Uncle Sherlock ignores him and turns to John.

"Doctor Watson, what do you think?"

"Of the message?"

"Of the body. You're a medical man.

"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside." Lestrade interrupts.

"They won't work with me." Uncle Sherlock replies.

"I'm breaking every rule letting _you_ in here."

"Yes… because you need me." Uncle Sherlock replies.

Lestrade stares at him and after a moment, he lowers his eyes.

"Yes, I do. God help me." I smile as Uncle Sherlock says,

"Doctor Watson."

"Hm?" John looks up from the body, looks at Uncle Sherlock, and turns to Lestrade, as if he was asking permission to continue.

"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself." Lestrade sighs.

He turns and walks to the door, opens it, and walks out. I stand there and watch as both Uncle Sherlock and John bend down over the body. Well, Uncle Sherlock bent down and John just sort of… shifted his way down.

"Well?" Uncle Sherlock asks.

John softly asks, "What am I doing here?"

"Helping me make a point."

"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent."

"Yeah, well, this is more fun."

"Fun?" John asks. "There's a woman lying dead."

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper." Uncle Sherlock says.

Lestrade walks back in and stands in the doorway, watching as John examines the body. After he finishes, John says,

"Yeah… Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; probably drugs."

"You know what it was. You've read the papers." Uncle Sherlock says.

"What, she's one of the suicides? The fourth…"

"Sherlock – two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got." Lestrade interrupts.

Uncle Sherlock stands and John tries his best to stand. I go up and help him to his feet as he says a quick 'Thank you'. Meanwhile, Uncle Sherlock starts,

"Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Traveled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase."

"Suitcase?" Lestrade asks as all of us start looking around the room for a suitcase.

"Suitcase, yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married."

"Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up…" Lestrade starts. Uncle Sherlock points to the dead woman's left hand.

"Her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who _does_ she remove her rings for? Clearly not _one_ lover; shed never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple." He finishes, as if it's no big deal.

"That's brilliant." John says admiringly. Both Uncle Sherlock and I look at him. "Sorry."

"Cardiff?" Lestrade asks.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Uncle Sherlock asks back.

"It's not obvious to me." John adds.

Uncle Sherlock pauses and looks at me. I shrug my shoulders and he looks back and John and Lestrade.

"Dear God, what's it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring." He says as I giggle. He turns back to the body. "Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, _strong_ wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to say overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?"

Uncle Sherlock takes his phone back out of his pocket and finds a webpage that displays the weather report for southern Britain.

"Cardiff." He finishes, holding out his phone.

"That's fantastic!" John exclaims. Uncle Sherlock turns to him and speaks in a low voice.

"D'you know you do that out loud?"

"Sorry. Ill shut up."

"No, its… fine."

"Why d'you keeps saying suitcase?" Lestrade asks.

Uncle Sherlock spins around in a circle, looking around the room. It kind of reminded me of a dog chasing its tail.

"Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is."

"She was writing 'Rachel'?" Lestrade asks.

"No, she was leaving an angry not in German!" Uncle Sherlock said sarcastically. "Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

"How d'you know she had a suitcase?"

Uncle Sherlock points down to the body.

"Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night." He kneels down by the woman's body and looks more closely at her legs. "Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"

"There wasn't a case." Lestrade says.

Uncle Sherlock looks up and frowns at Lestrade.

"Say that again."

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase." Lestrade seemed frustrated.

Uncle Sherlock immediately stands up and walks out the door.

"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?" Uncle Sherlock yelled to the others as he was running downstairs.

"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade yells after him.

John, Lestrade, and I stop and look down from the landing. Uncle Sherlock slows down but keeps heading down the stairs.

"But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them."

"Right, yeah, thanks! _And_…?" Lestrade asks.

"Its murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings – _Serial _killings." He holds his hands up to his face, delightedly, if that's even a word. "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I _love_ those. There's always something to look forward to."

"Why are you saying that?"

Uncle Sherlock starts calling out to the others.

"Her case! Come on where is her case? Did she eat it?! Someone else was here, and they took her case." He starts talking to himself. "So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car."

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there?" John added. Uncle Sherlock looks up at us.

"No, she never got to the hotel Look at her hair. She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking…" He pauses. "Oh." I see his eyes widen and his face light up. "Oh!"

"Sherlock?" John asks. Lestrade leans over the railings.

"What is it, what?"

"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake." Uncle Sherlock says to himself, smiling.

"We can't just wait!"

"Oh we're done waiting." He starts running down the stairs again. "Look at her, really _look_! Houston, we _have_ a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!"

At that, he disappears from view. Lestrade calls after him.

"Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!"

Uncle Sherlock comes back into view and yells,

"_PINK_!"

And yet again, Uncle Sherlock disappears. This time for good.

'Great…' I think to myself.

Lestrade turns and walks back into the room. Anderson follows him in with his team.

"Let's get on with it."

"Nice…" I mumble to myself.

I start heading down the stairs as John slowly follows. We go down, remove our coveralls, and head back outside. We walk towards the police take to leave.

"Does he always do this?" John asks me.

"Sometimes. Well, most of the time, actually. Sometimes he forgets me." John looks sideways at me. "Not often, though." He nods his head and we keep walking.

Eventually, we get to the border, only to find Donovan standing there. She turns around and looks at John.

"He's gone."

"Who, Sherlock Holmes?"

'No, the muffin man…' I think to myself.

"Yeah, he just took off. He does that. Right, Liza?" I look crossly at her and she smirks.

"Is he coming back?"

"Didn't look like it."

"Right." He looks around. "Right… yes. Sorry, where am I?" He asks Donovan.

"Brixton."

"Right. Er, d'you know where I could get a cab? It's just, er… well…" He looks down. "…my leg."

"Er…" She says as she steps over the tape to lift it for him. "…try the main road."

John and I duck under the tape.

"Thanks." John says.

"But you're not his friend."

John turns to Donovan and I keep walking. I can feel my IQ going down by the second. After a while, I could still hear Donovan talking to John, so I stop and turn around.

"C'mon then!" I call back to John.

He turns to look at me then back to watch Donovan as she leaves. He turns back and starts walking towards me.

"Yeah I'm coming." I giggle and he smiles.

We start walking again. All of the sudden, a phone in a telephone box starts to ring.

'Not again…' I think to myself as I keep walking.

John stops to look at it, but eventually just shakes his head and keeps walking.

_**Ooo cliffhanger! Well, not really. For those of you who've seen the show, you know exactly what happens next. Sorry this chapter took so long. Oh and a little preview for the next chapter, John gets to know Liza a little better. I'm also working on a different story, more focused on Liza and her love interest. O.O Remember, I Love Reviews! **_


	5. Chapter 5 - 'The Man'

_***I do not own Sherlock! I only own Sarafina and Liza Holmes!***_

Chapter 5

As we continue down the road, out of the corner of my eye, I can see John looking at me.

"What is it?" I ask.

"So you're Sherlock's niece?"

"Yes."

"I didn't know Sherlock had any siblings." I keep walking.

"So you're his niece… Don't your parents worry about you going off chasing criminals and looking at bodies?"

"My mums dead."

John stops suddenly and I look back. He has his head in his hand.

"Oh. I'm so sorry. If I'd have known…"

"Don't worry about it." I interrupt. "You didn't know. Besides, it was a long time ago. I don't even really remember much about her." I look at John and he has a sort of unsure facial expression. "Seriously. I'm fine." I say.

He nods and we keep walking. After a few moments, he asks,

"So you're… 15? 16?"

"I'm 17."

"Oh, nice."

"Yeah, not really." I mumble

"Why not?"

"I don't really have much freedom. Well, except for the times Uncle Sherlock forgets me somewhere." He chuckles slightly. "I never get to go out. I'm always stuck at the flat, either doing school work or helping Uncle Sherlock with his experiments. I don't even have my license yet."

"Hey, neither do I." I stop and look at John.

"Seriously?"

"Nope."

"Well, why not?"

"Never interested me." I gawk at him.

"Wow… well, I guess everyone's different." I say. He laughs.

"How do you get around then?"

"Cabs. And the occasional hitch-hike." I laugh and he smiles.

As we get closer to the main road, we try to catch different cabs passing by.

"TAXI!" I yell as one passes by.

John tries this time but has the same result. All of the sudden, the payphone inside a fast food restaurant starts to ring. As one of the employees goes to answer it, it stops. As we keep walking, we pass a telephone booth and again, the phone starts to ring. This time, John went in and answered it. I thought it would be really awkward if both of us tried to go in, so I stand outside and wait.

"Can't you ever just leave us alone?" I ask myself.

I watch as John looks around and around at different buildings. Pretty soon, a black car pulls up and a man comes out and opens the door.

"Ugh what do you want now?" I ask myself again.

John steps out of the box and looks at me. I shrug my shoulders and climb into the car. Soon, John follows and we drive off. As we drive, John looks at the woman sitting next to him.

"Hello." She smiles at him and returns to her phone.

"Hi."

"What's your name, then?" He asks. I roll my eyes.

"Er… Anthea."

"Is that your real name?" She smiles again.

"No." John nods his head and turns to look out the back window before turning back again.

"I'm John."

"Yes, I know."

"Any point in asking where we're going?"

"None at all…" She says as she smiles and turns back to her phone. "…John."

"Okay." He accepts.

After a while, we pull into a basically empty warehouse. I see a man standing in the middle of the area, casually leaning on his umbrella. We get out of the car and walk towards him. He gestures with his umbrella to an empty chair.

"Have a seat, John."

"You know, I've got a phone." He says, looking around the warehouse. "I mean, very clever and all that, but er… you could just phone me. On my phone."

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place. The leg must be hurting you. Sit down." He says sternly.

"I don't want to sit down." John says. 'The man' looks curiously at him.

"You don't seem very afraid."

"You don't seem very frightening." 'The man' chuckles.

"Ah, yes. The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?" He looks sternly at John. "What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

"I don't have one. I barely know him. I met him…" He stops and thinks about it for a second. "…yesterday."

"Mmm, and since yesterday you've moved in with him and his niece here and now you're solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"

Despite the seriousness of our encounter, I had to crack a smirk at that last comment.

"Who _are_ you?"

"An interested party."

"Interested in Sherlock? Why? I'm guessing you're not friends."

'You've met him. How many 'friends' do you imagine he has? I'm the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."

"Ahem…?" I cut in. He ignores me and John asks,

"And what's that?"

"An enemy."

"An enemy?" John repeats.

"In _his_ mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his _arch_-enemy. He does love to be dramatic."

"Well, thank God _you're_ above all that." John says sarcastically.

'The man' frowns at him and John's phone makes a noise. He looks down and reads the message.

"I hope I'm not distracting you." 'The man' says.

I look over Johns shoulder to read the message. It said,

_Baker Street. Come at once if convenient._

_ SH_

"Not distracting me at all." John says casually.

He looks up from his phone and puts it back in his pocket.

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

"I could be wrong… but I think that's none of your business." John replies.

"It _could_ be." 'The man' says ominously.

"It _really_ couldn't." 'The man' takes out a notebook from his pocket and opens it to look at it.

"If you _do_ move into, um… two hundred and twenty-one _B_ Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease you're way." He closes the notebook and puts it away.

"Why?" John asks.

"Because you're not a wealthy man."

"In exchange for what?"

"Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel… uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."

"Why?"

"I worry about him. Constantly."

"That's nice of you." John replies, insincerely.

"But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a… difficult relationship."

John's phone makes a noise again. This time, the text read,

_If inconvenient, come anyway. _

_ Bring Liza._

_ SH_

"No." John says to 'the man'.

"But I haven't mentioned a figure." 'The man' says.

"Don't bother." 'The man' laughs.

"You're very loyal, _very_ quickly."

"No, I'm not. I'm just not interested."

'The man' looks closely at John and takes out the notebook again.

""Trust issues," it says here." John looks slightly unnerved.

"What's that?" He asks.

"Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?"

"Who says I trust him?"

"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily."

"Are we done?" 'The man' looks up and stares at John.

"You tell me."

John looks at him and turns to walk away. I follow him and as we walk away, 'The man' starts to talk again.

"I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen."

John stops suddenly and his shoulders tense. He drops his shoulders and angrily shakes his head. He turns around to face him.

"My wot?" John says through bared teeth. Even I was a little scared. I thought he was going to, at one point, let the fists fly.

"Show me." 'The man' says calmly.

He nods to John's left hand and leans casually on his umbrella. John holds up his left hand like, 'You want to look at it, you're going to have to come to me'. 'The man' walks towards John. Apparently, John didn't think he'd actually come to him because as 'The man' walks forward, John pulls his hand back a little.

"Don't." John says tensely.

'The man' lowers his head and raises his eyebrows as to say, 'Really?' At that, John lowers his hand back down. 'The man' takes his hand and looks closely at it.

"Remarkable." John snatches his hand away.

"What is?"

'The man' turns and walks a few steps away and says,

"Most people blunder round this city, and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield." He turns towards John. "You've seen it already, haven't you?"

"What's wrong with my hand?"

"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand. Your therapist thinks its post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service."

John practically flinches during his deduction. "Who the hell _are_ you? How do you know that?"

"Fire her. She's got it the wrong way round. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady." John's eyes flicker to his hand before looking back up. It was almost as if he was trying to hold himself back from killing the man. Fact is, he wasn't the only one. "You're not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson… you miss it." 'The man' leans forward and whispers to John, "Welcome back." He turns and walks away as John's phone makes a noise again. "Time to choose a side, Doctor Watson.

John stares at the man as he walks away. Behind us, 'Anthea' gets out of the car and walks towards us, still attached to her blackberry. I almost just want to smack it out of her hands.

"I'm to take you home."

John turns to her halfway and looks at me. He then takes his phone out of his pocket and reads the message. I look at his phone.

_Could be dangerous_

_ SH_

He puts his phone back in his pocket and studies his hand. No tremor. He smiles to himself.

"Address?" 'Anthea' asks.

John turns and walks towards her and says,

"Er, Baker Street. Two two one B Baker Street. But I need to stop off somewhere first."

We walk to the car and I get in and John follows. As we drive off, I turn to him.

"You okay?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. I'm fine. 'Bout you? Scared?" I laugh.

"Scared? Of him? Nah. Sherlock's scarier than him." John laughs.

He leans over to the driver and tells him an address. He says it kind of faintly so I couldn't quite catch it.

"Where are we going?" I ask John.

"Gotta stop somewhere a minute. Sort of personal."

"Oh okay. Gotcha…" I say back.

We stop in front of a building and he opens the door to get out.

"Right back."

I nod my head and watch as he walks into the building. After a few moments, he returns. He gets back into the car and it drives off. Pretty soon, the car stops in front of 221B and John looks at 'Anthea'.

"Listen, your boss – any chance you could not tell him this is where I went?"

"Sure." She says nonchalantly.

"You've told him already, haven't you?" She smiles briefly at him.

"Yeah."

John nods and turns to get out of the car. He stops suddenly and turns back to her.

"Hey, um… do you ever get any free time?" She chuckles.

"Oh, yeah. Lots." She says sarcastically. John waits, as if he's expecting her to say something. She looks up at him. "'Bye."

"Okay." John says as he closes the door.

I laugh and get out of the car and we watch as it pulls away. I look at him.

"Smooth…" I say smiling. He looks at me.

"Shut up." He turns and walks to the door and knocks on it.

_**Sorry that update took so long. School sucks... Anyways, hope you liked it! Some people seemed really excited for the update so I tried to get it to you as fast as possible. Also, so far, i've gotten over 300 views since this story was posted! Thank you! You guys rock! **_

_**Remember. Reviews are sweet, like you. :)**_


	6. Chapter 6 - The Chase

_****I do not own Sherlock! I only own Sarafina and Liza Holmes!****_

Chapter 6

We walk upstairs to find Uncle Sherlock lying across the sofa with his arm up in the air. He noisily breathes out and relaxes. As Uncle Sherlock keeps clenching and unclenching his left fist, John stares at him in the doorway.

"What are you doing?"

"Nicotine patch. Helps me think." I roll my eyes and head towards the kitchen. "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work." John walks further into the room.

"Its good news for breathing."

"Oh, breathing. Breathings boring." Uncle Sherlock says dismissively.

"Oh, you say that about everything!" I yell from the kitchen.

"Is that three patches?" John asks Uncle Sherlock.

"What?!" I yell from the kitchen again.

"It's a three patch problem." Uncle Sherlock says. He puts his hands under his chin in a prayer like stance as I come out from the kitchen.

"You're wearing _three_ patches?" He closes his eyes. "What the hell is the matter with you? I told you not to do that anymore!" I yell.

"Liza, don't yell, you're going to wake the neighbors." Uncle Sherlock says, eyes still closed. I sigh loudly and go back to the kitchen.

"Well?" John asks. "You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important." A couple minutes later, Uncle Sherlock replies.

"Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone?"

"Don't wanna use mine. Always a chance that the number will be recognized. It's on the website."

"Mrs. Hudson's got a phone."

"Yeah, she's downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn't hear."

I walk out of the kitchen with a cup of tea and sit on one of the chairs in the room to watch whatever played out in front of me.

"I _was_ the other side of London." John said. I could tell he was starting to get angry.

"There was no hurry." Uncle Sherlock says mildly.

John glares at him and looks up at the ceiling, as if to calm himself down. Pretty much the same stance I have when dealing with Uncle Sherlock. After a few moments, John takes out his phone and holds it out towards Uncle Sherlock.

"Here." He says.

Without opening his eyes, Uncle Sherlock just holds out his hand. John glares at him again and then steps forward and slaps the phone into Uncle Sherlock's outstretched hand. He puts his hands in his "thinking position" again with the phone between the palms of his hands. John turns and walks a few feet away and turns around.

"So what's this about – the case?"

"Her case."

"_Her_ case?" Uncle Sherlock opens his eyes.

"Her suitcase, yes, obviously. The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake."

"Okay, he took her case. So?"

"It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it." Uncle Sherlock says quietly, almost as if he's talking to himself. He holds the phone out to John, still not looking at him. "On my desk there's a number. I want you to send a text."

John half-smiles angrily in disbelief. I snorted.

"You brought me here… to send a text."

"Text, yes. The number on my desk."

John continues to glare at him. I almost thought John would crack and shoot him right there on the spot. Eventually, John stomps over to Uncle Sherlock and snatches the phone out of his hand. Uncle Sherlock refolds his hands under his chin and closes his eyes while John walks over to the window and looks out to the street below. Uncle Sherlock opens his eyes and tilts his head slightly towards John.

"What's wrong?"

"Just met a friend of yours." Uncle Sherlock frowns.

"A _friend_?"

"An enemy." John clarifies. Uncle Sherlock immediately relaxes.

"Oh. Which one?"

"Your _arch_-enemy, according to him." John says and turns towards Uncle Sherlock. "Do people _have_ arch-enemies?"

Uncle Sherlock looks at me and I nod my head, confirming what John had said. Uncle Sherlock looks at John and narrows his eyes.

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yes."

"Did you take it?"  
"No."

"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time." I giggled.

"Who is he?" John asked.

"The most dangerous man you've ever met, and not my problem right now." Uncle Sherlock replies softly. He raises his voice a little more. "On my desk, the number."

John gives him a dark look, but Uncle Sherlock had already looked away. John walks over to the desk and picks up a piece of paper.

"Jennifer Wilson. That was… Hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?"

"Yes. That's not important. Just enter the number." John shakes his head and gets out his phone to enter the number. "Are you doing it?"

"Yes."

"Have you _done_ it?"

"Ye… hang on!"

"These words exactly: "What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out."" As John types, he looks over at Uncle Sherlock, concerned. Uncle Sherlock continues. ""Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come."" John looks at Uncle Sherlock again.

"You blacked out?"

"What? No. No!" He flips his legs off the sofa and steps over the coffee table. "Type and send it. Quickly."

Uncle Sherlock goes into the kitchen and grabs a pink suitcase and brings it into the living room. He grabs a chair from the dining table and sits it down in front of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. He sets the suitcase on top of the chair and looks at me. I sigh and get up from the chair and move to the couch. He sits down in his armchair.

"Have you sent it?" He asks John.

"What's the address?" John asks.

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Hurry up!" Uncle Sherlock says impatiently. I shake my head and lean back on the couch. Uncle Sherlock opens the case and inspects the contents. John realized what he's looking at, staggering at his shock.

"That's… that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case."

"Yes, obviously." Uncle Sherlock says as he studies the case further. Uncle Sherlock realizes Johns still staring at him and he rolls his eyes. "Oh, perhaps I should mention: _I_ didn't kill her." He says sarcastically.

"I never said you did."

"Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact that I have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption."

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" Uncle Sherlock smirks.

"Now and again, yes." He puts his hands on the armrests and lifts his feet up under himself so that he's perching on the chair with his backside resting on the back of the chair and clasps his hands under his chin.

"Okay…" John limps across the room and sits down on one of the armchairs by the fireplace. "How did you get this?"

"By looking."

"Where?"

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention – particularly a man which is statistically more likely – so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it in the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes from Lauriston Gardens… and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Tooke me less than an hour to find the right skip."

"Pink. You got _all_ that because you realized the case would be pink?"

"Well, it _had_ to be pink, obviously."

"Why didn't _I_ think of that?" John asked himself.

"Because you're an idiot." John looks at Uncle Sherlock shocked. Me, I just laughed. "No, no, no, don't look like that. Practically everyone is." He folds his hands and points out his index fingers at the case. "Now, look. Do you see what's missing?"

"From the case? How _could_ I?"

"Her phone. Where's her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one – that's her number there; you just texted it."

"Maybe she left it at home." John offers. Uncle Sherlock lifts himself from the chair and sits himself down on it normally.

"She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She _never_ leaves her phone at home." He puts the paper back into the luggage label and looks expectantly at John.

"Er…" He looks down at his mobile on the arm of the chair. "Why did I just send that text?"

"Well, the question is: Where is her phone now?"

"She could have lost it."

"Yes, or…?"

"The murderer… you think the murderer has the phone?" John asks slowly.

"Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone." John looks, confused.

"Sorry, what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer?! What good will _that_ do?" Suddenly, his phone starts to ring. He picks up his phone and looks at the screen. He looks at Uncle Sherlock.

"A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just _found_ that phone they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer…" Uncle Sherlock pauses dramatically as the phone stops. "…would panic."

He suddenly flips shut the suitcase and stands up. He walks across the room and puts on his jacket. I follow as John continues to stare at his phone. John finally looks up.

"Have you talked to the police?"

"Four people are dead. There isn't time to talk to the police."

"So why are you talking to _me_?" Uncle Sherlock reaches behind the door to grab his coat. As he looks at John, he says,

"Mrs. Hudson took my skull."

"So I'm basically filling in for your skull?"

"Relax, you're doing fine." Uncle Sherlock says as he puts on his coat. I smirk as I do the same. John continues to sit there. "Well?" Uncle Sherlock asks.

"Well what?"

"Well you could just sit there and watch telly."

"What, you want me to come with you?"

"I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so…" John smiles briefly and looks at me, who is staring shocked at Uncle Sherlock. Uncle Sherlock looks at John. "What?" John nods towards me and Uncle Sherlock looks. "Oh, come on now, Liza. You know what I mean. Besides, you talk most of the time. I never get a word in edgewise with you." I continue to glare at him as he looks again at John. "Problem?"

"Yeah, Sergeant Donovan." Uncle Sherlock looks away exasperated.

"What about her?"

"She said… you get off on this. You enjoy it."

"And I said "dangerous", and here you are." Uncle Sherlock says nonchalantly and walks out the door. I follow.

After a couple of minutes and a "Damn it." from John, he was following us down the street.

"Where are we going?"

"Northumberland Street's a five minute walk from here."

"You think he's stupid enough to go there?" Uncle Sherlock smiles.

"No – I think he's _brilliant_ enough. I love the brilliant ones. They're always so desperate to get caught."

"Why?"

"Appreciation! Applause! At long last the spotlight. That's the frailty of genius, John: it needs an audience." John looks pointedly at Uncle Sherlock.

"Yeah." Uncle Sherlock spins around to observe the area as he continues to walk.

"This is his hunting ground, right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything. Because all his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go." He puts his hands on either side of his head, focusing his thoughts. "Think! Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?"

"Dunno. Who?" Uncle Sherlock shrugs.

"Haven't the faintest. Hungry?"

"Yes!" I say excitedly.

John just smirks and follows Uncle Sherlock into a restaurant. The waiter at the door, oh bugger I forgot his name, gestures towards a table near the window.

"Thank you, Billy." Uncle Sherlock says.

'Billy! That's his name!' I think to myself.

Uncle Sherlock takes his coat off and sits down on the bench and immediately focuses towards the window. I sit down next to Uncle Sherlock as I take my coat off and John sits down on the other bench, back towards the window. Uncle Sherlock nods his head towards a building on the other side of the road.

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it." He says to John and I.

"He isn't just gonna ring the doorbell, though, is he? He'd need to be mad."

"He _has_ killed four people." John hesitates.

"…Okay." The manager/owner, Angelo, comes over to greet us.

"Sherlock." He says as they shake hands. "And you brought little Liza with you too." He says as he pats my shoulder.

"Little?" I say, slightly offended.

"Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free." He lays some menus on the table. "For you, your niece, _and_ your date." I snort and cover my mouth with my hands, shocked. Uncle Sherlock turns to John.

"Do you want to eat?"

"I'm not his date." John says to Angelo. I'm still trying to keep my composure.

"This man got me off a murder charge." Angelo says.

"This is Angelo." Uncle Sherlock says to John. Angelo offers his hand to John and he shakes it. "Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking."

"He cleared my name." Angelo said to John.

"I cleared it a _bit_. Anything happen opposite?" Uncle Sherlock asked.

"Nothing." He looks at John. "But for this man, I'd have gone to prison."

"You _did_ go to prison."

"I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic." I snorted again and John says,

"I'm not his date!" Uncle Sherlock puts down his menu.

"You may as well eat. We might have a long wait." Just then, Angelo comes back with a candle, sets it down in the middle of the table, and gives John a thumbs-up. He walks away as John says, "Thanks…"

Later, John and I are eating and Uncle Sherlock is still staring out the window, quietly drumming his fingers on the table.

"People don't _have_ arch-enemies." John says. Uncle Sherlock turns to him.

"I'm sorry?"

"In real life. There _are_ no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn't happen." Uncle Sherlock looks back out the window.

"Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull." He says disinterestedly.

"So who did Liza and I meet?" I pause and look at Uncle Sherlock, wondering if I should say something.

"What do real people have, then, in their 'real lives'?"

"Friends; people they know; people they like; people they don't like… Girlfriends, boyfriends…"

"Yes, well, as I was saying – dull."

"You don't have a girlfriend, then?"

"Girlfriend? No, not really my area."

"Mm." After a moment, John speaks again. "Oh, right. D'you have a boyfriend?" I drop my fork and turn slowly to John and Uncle Sherlock. Uncle Sherlock looks at John sharply. "Which is fine, by the way."

"I _know_ its fine." John smiles.

"So you've got a boyfriend then?"

"No." Johns smile stays but gets a little more fixed and awkward.

"Right. Okay. You're unattached. Like me." He looks down at his plate, looking as if he's running out of things to say. "Fine." He clears his throat. "Good."

At that, John continues eating as Uncle Sherlock looks suspiciously at him for a moment. He turns his attention back out the window, but then looks at John again.

"John, um… I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any…"

"No." John interrupts. He turns his head to clear his throat. "No, I'm not asking. No." He fixes his gaze onto Uncle Sherlock's. "I'm just saying, it's _all_ fine." Uncle Sherlock looks at him for a quick moment and nods his head.

"Good. Thank you." At that, he turns his attention back out the window. John looks away with sort of a, "What the heck was that all about?" look. Then Uncle Sherlock nods out the window. "Look across the street. Taxi." John turns and looks as I get up on my knees to look over Uncle Sherlock's shoulder. "Stopped. Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out." I see the passenger of the taxi looking through the windows as if he's looking for someone in particular. "Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever. _Is_ it clever? _Why_ is it clever?" Uncle Sherlock says to himself.

"That's him?" John asks.

"Don't stare." John looks at him.

"_You're_ staring."

"We can't _all_ stare."

He gets to his feet, grabs his coat and scarf, and walks towards the door. John picks up his jacket and follows him. I get up and follow. Outside, Uncle Sherlock puts on his coat and keeps an eye on the taxi. The passenger looks out the back window and his gaze goes to Uncle Sherlock. Then the passenger turns back and the cab starts to leave. Uncle Sherlock darts out into the road, right out in front of a car. The driver slams on his brakes but Uncle Sherlock, always wanting to find the quickest route, rolls onto the bonnet of the car, lands on his feet, and keeps following the taxi. It was almost comedic how fast he went over the car. John runs in front of the now stopped car and apologizes to the driver.

"Sorry." He says. We chase after Uncle Sherlock before he completely stops. "I've got the cab number." John says.

"Good for you." Uncle Sherlock says. He puts his hands up on either side of his head again and concentrates on the mental map he's looking at, I'm assuming. "Right turn, one way, roadworks, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights." Uncle Sherlock says quick fire.

"What are things you find on the side of the street?!" I ask excitedly. Just joking, of course. Didn't really think this would be a great time to play a guessing game.

Uncle Sherlock lifts his head and looks at a man who's unlocking a door at a building nearby. He then runs towards the man and grabs him, shoves him out of his way, and charges into the building.

"Oy!" The man shouts. John and I both raise an apologetic hand to the man.

"Sorry." We say.

We race up the stairs after Uncle Sherlock. He takes two steps at a time while John and I struggle to keep up. (Before you say anything, I'm very active and I had no trouble, but I was stuck behind John so I couldn't move that fast. In my defense. Anyways…)

"Come on, John." Uncle Sherlock yells back.

We reach the top of the stairs and make our way down the staircase on the side of the building. Uncle Sherlock climbs onto the railing and leaps across a gap between the two buildings. John and I follow. Uncle Sherlock and I run across the roof and jump across to the other building. John stops at the gap, unsure of whether he'd make it across or not.

"Come _on_, John. We're losing him!" Uncle Sherlock yells across.

Finally, John backs up a little and jumps. We drop down onto a walkway on the side of the building and continue. We go down another staircase, run to yet another ledge, and drop down into an alley. We run down the alleyway onto D'Arblay Street, where the taxi drives past us.

"Ah, no!" Uncle Sherlock races out of the alley and goes to the right. "This way." I follow Uncle Sherlock to the right as John goes to the left. "No, _this_ way!" Uncle Sherlock yells back at him.

"Sorry." John says, turning around.

We keep running down different streets and alleyways until Evil Kenivel decides to jump in front of another cab. It screeches to a stop and Uncle Sherlock crashes onto the bonnet. He takes, what looks like an I.D badge, out of his pocket and flashes it at the driver as he runs to the right side of the cab.

"Police! Open her up!" He opens the door and stares at the passenger. "No." He leans down to look at the passenger again. "Teeth, tan: What – Californian?" He looks at what the passenger has on the floor in front of him. "LA, Santa Monica. Just arrived." He straightens up, grimacing.

"How can you _possibly_ know that?" John asks.

"The luggage." I look and on his luggage label, it says that he'd flown from LAX to LHR. "It's probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?" Uncle Sherlock says to the passenger.

"Sorry – are you guys the police?" The passenger asks.

"Yeah." Uncle Sherlock says, flashing the I.D at him again. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah." The passenger says smiling. Uncle Sherlock pauses for a brief moment and smiles falsely.

"Welcome to London." Then he walks away, leaving John and I staring blankly for a moment. John steps closer and looks at the passenger.

"Er, any problems, just let us know." The passenger nods and John shuts the door. John and I walk towards Uncle Sherlock. "Basically just a cab that happened to slow down."

"Basically."

"Not the murderer."

"_Not_ the murderer, no."

"Wrong country, good alibi."

"As they go." Uncle Sherlock says as he switches the I.D from one hand to another.

"Hey, where – where did you get this? Here." John reaches for the I.D and takes it. "Right. Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"Yeah. I pickpocket him when he's annoying." I turn to Uncle Sherlock.

"Seriously? I told you to stop that!" He ignores me and keeps talking to John.

"You can keep that one, I've got plenty at the flat."

"Uncle Sherlock!" John nods and starts giggling silently.

"What?" Uncle Sherlock asks.

"Nothing, just: "Welcome to London"."

Uncle Sherlock chuckles and looks down the road. I look in the same direction and see a police officer talking to the passenger. I watch as the passenger turns and points in our direction.

"Got your breath back?" Uncle Sherlock asks John.

"Ready when you are." At that, we all turn and run down the road.

_**Sorry it took me so long to update. Im working like crazy. Im scheduled everyday this week plus I have classes Monday-Wednesday... :/ Ill try to update faster. Oh and quick question! Do you like what im doing? Do you think the chapters should be longer or shorter? Should I update more or less? Is there anyting you think I should change or do differently? I need your opinons! Thank you! :)**_


	7. Chapter 7 - The Cabbie (Part 1)

**_**I do not own Sherlock! I only own Sarafina and Liza Holmes!**_**

Chapter 7

We arrive back at 221B. Panting heavily, John and I hang up our jackets and Uncle Sherlock drapes his coat over the bottom of the bannisters.

"Okay, that was ridiculous." John says as we lean against the hallway wall, catching our breaths. "That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."

"And you invaded Afghanistan." John giggles. I smile as Uncle Sherlock begins to laugh.

"That wasn't just me." Uncle Sherlock chuckles. "Why aren't we back at the restaurant?" Uncle Sherlock becomes serious and waves his hand dismissively.

"Oh, they can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway."

"So what were we doing there?" Uncle Sherlock clears his throat.

"Oh just passing the time." He says as he looks at John. "And proving a point."

"What point?"

"You." He turns and yells loudly towards Mrs. Hudson's flat. "Mrs. Hudson! Doctor Watson _will_ take the room upstairs.

"Says who?" Uncle Sherlock looks towards the front door.

"Says the man at the door."

Someone knocks at the door as John turns and looks at it. He looks at Uncle Sherlock in surprise and Uncle Sherlock smiles. He stares at him for a moment and walks over to answer the door. I watch as John opens the door to reveal Angelo.

"Sherlock texted me." He says smiling. He then holds up John's cane. 'I knew it.' I think to myself. "He said you forgot this." John stares at the can surprised and takes it.

"Ah." He turns and looks at Uncle Sherlock who grins at him. He turns back to Angelo. "Er, thank you. Thank you." He comes back in and shuts the door. He looks at me and I smirk. "Shut up…" He says.

Mrs. Hudson then comes out of her flat and hurries over to us. She looks upset and about ready to cry.

"Sherlock, what have you done?"

"Mrs. Hudson?" Uncle Sherlock asks concerned.

"Upstairs."

Uncle Sherlock hurries up the stairs and John and I follow. As Uncle Sherlock opens the door to the flat, I see Lestrade sitting there and police officers searching the flat. Uncle Sherlock storms over to Lestrade.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid.

"You can't just break into my flat."

"And you can't withhold evidence. And I didn't _break_ into your flat."

"Well, what do you call this then?"

"It's a drugs bust."

"Seriously?! _This_ guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!" Uncle Sherlock and I turn towards John and Uncle Sherlock walks closer to him.

"John…"

"I'm pretty sure you could search his flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational."

"John, you probably want to shut up now."

"Yeah, but come on…" He looks at Uncle Sherlock. They both gaze longingly at each other for a while before John breaks the silence. "No."

"What?"

"_You_?"

"Shut up!" Uncle Sherlock says angrily. He turns back to Lestrade. "I'm not your sniffer dog."

"No, _Anderson_'s my sniffer dog." Lestrade says as he nods to the kitchen.

"What, An…" Just then Anderson pops into view from the kitchen, raises his hand, and wiggles his fingers in a sarcastic greeting.

"Oh, God…" I say rolling my eyes.

"Anderson what are _you_ doing here on a drugs bust?"

"Oh I volunteered." Anderson says venomously. Uncle Sherlock turns away as Lestrade cuts in.

"They _all_ did. They're not strictly speaking _on_ the drugs squad, but they're very keen." Then Donovan (gag) comes into view holding a jar.

"Are these _human_ eyes?"

"Her _too_?!" I ask angrily.

"Put those back!" Uncle Sherlock yells.

"They were in the microwave!"

"It's an experiment." Uncle Sherlock and I say at the same time.

"Keep looking, guys." Lestrade stands up and turns towards Uncle Sherlock. "Or you could help us properly and I'll stand them down." Uncle Sherlock starts pacing angrily.

"This is childish."

"Well, I'm _dealing_ with a child. Actually, I'm dealing with two." He looks towards me. I glare at him. He turns back to Uncle Sherlock. "Sherlock, this is _our_ case. I'm letting you in, but you do _not_ go off on your own. Clear?" Uncle Sherlock stops and glares at him.

"Oh, what, so-so-so you can set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?"

"It stops being pretend if they find anything."

"I've got Liza. Do you really think id subject her to that? I am clean!" He says loudly.

"Is your flat? All of it?"

"I don't even smoke." Uncle Sherlock unbuttons his cuff on his left arm and pulls it up to reveal a single (hallelujah) nicotine patch on his arm.

"Neither do I." Lestrade says as he lifts up his own sleeve to show a similar patch on his arm. Uncle Sherlock rolls his eyes, turns away, and they both roll their sleeves back down. "So let's work together. We've found Rachel." Uncle Sherlock turns back to him.

"Who is she?"

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter." Uncle Sherlock frowns.

"Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"

"Never mind _that_. We found the case." Anderson cuts in. He points to the suitcase. "According to _someone_, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath." Uncle Sherlock looks at him disparagingly.

"I'm not a psychopath, Anderson. I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research." He turns to Lestrade again. "You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. _I_ need to question her."

"She's dead." Lestrade replies.

"Excellent!" I look at him startled. John does the same. "How, when and why? Is there a connection? There _has_ to be."

"Well I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically, she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago." John grimaces and looks away. Uncle Sherlock just looks confused.

"No that's… that's not right. How… Why would she do that? _Why_?"

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup – sociopath; I'm seeing it now." I roll my eyes and Uncle Sherlock looks at him exasperated.

"She didn't _think_ about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have hurt." He starts to pace again.

"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he _makes_ them take it. Well, maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow." John says. Uncle Sherlock stops and looks at him.

"Yeah, but that was _ages_ ago. Why would she still be upset?" Everyone pauses.

"You don't think she'd still be upset?" I ask. "So, people shouldn't still be upset about something that happened a while ago?" Uncle Sherlock looks at me confused. "…Are you not upset about my mum anymore, Uncle Sherlock?" He stares at me He briefly glances away and turns back to me.

"Liza, that's… that's not what I meant…"

"Save it." I interrupt. I walk past him and go up to my room.

"Liza!" Uncle Sherlock calls out after me. "Liza, please. That's not…" I slam my door behind me before he could say anything else.

I didn't know what came over me. It's just, when I heard him say that, something just… snapped. I lean back against my door and put my head in my hands. I could still hear somewhat of the things they were saying.

"…If you were dying… in your very last few seconds what would you say?" I could hear Uncle Sherlock ask.

""Please, God, let me live."" John said.

"Oh, use your imagination!"

"I don't _have_ to." John replies.

Silence fell over the flat again. Then after a few moments I hear Uncle Sherlock.

"Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don't more, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off." He yells.

Even though I was upset, I had to smile at that last comment. Anderson puts everyone off. I stopped listening after that. I went over to my bed and sat on it. I picked up a picture that was on my nightstand. It was of me and my mum on my 7th birthday. I'm sitting at a table with my birthday cake with a big number 7 candle on the top. My mum is leaning down next to me as we both smile at the camera. That picture is my favorite. It's funny because I'm missing one of my front teeth. My mum had one of the most beautiful smiles. She lit up the room wherever she went. She was funny, smart, pretty, and she loved me. So much. As I was going through different memories of her in my head, I looked out the window to see Uncle Sherlock talking to someone outside of a cab. After a moment, the man got into the cab and turned on the 'Taxi' light. Something was wrong. I could feel it. I put my picture down and ran out of my room. I ran down the stairs into the living room, where Lestrade was continuing the 'drugs bust'. I grabbed my coat off the hanger and ignored John as he called out my name. I ran down the stairs and pushed open the front door.

"Uncle Sherlock wait!" I yell. He was halfway into the cab when he paused and looked at me.

"Liza?"

"I'm coming with you."

"Liza, you can't. I'm sor…"

"I don't care. I'm coming with you." I said sternly.

We stare at each other for a moment and he sighs, gets out, and gestures me in. I jump into the cab and slide over. Uncle Sherlock gets in after me and the man starts the cab and drives off. My heart is racing, but I sit quietly looking out the window. After a few moments, the man's phone starts ringing. He doesn't answer it. Just keeps driving. After it stops, Uncle Sherlock starts to speak.

"How did you find me?"

"Oh, I recognized yer, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock 'olmes! I was warned about you. I've been on your website too. Brilliant stuff! Loved it!" The man said.

"Who warned you about me?"

"Just someone out there who's noticed you. And little Liza too." I roll my eyes.

"I'm not little." I mumble quietly.

"Who?" Uncle Sherlock asks as he leans forward. "Who would notice _us_?"

"You're too modest, Mr. 'olmes."

"I'm really not."

"You've got yourself a fan." Uncle Sherlock nonchalantly sits back in the seat.

"Tell me more."

"That's all you're gonna know…" He pauses 'dramatically'. "…in _this_ lifetime."

I swear when he said that, I heard a 'dun, dun, dunnnn' from somewhere. After a moment, I decided it was probably my imagination. But then it happened again. Uncle Sherlock looks at me.

"Oh!" I say.

I realized it was my phone. That's the ringtone I put for my uncle. Not Uncle Sherlock, my other uncle. I grabbed it and shut it off, not bothering to look at the message.

"Impeccable timing, I must say." Uncle Sherlock says. I stifle a laugh and turn back to the window to hide my smile. After a few moments, Uncle Sherlock starts to speak. "Just because I said that, doesn't mean I'm not still upset about your mum." I keep staring out the window, but I can feel him staring at me.

"You still said it." I say quietly.

"I know. And it was a mistake, believe me." He pauses. "Liza, your mum meant more to me than anything. And you know emotions are hard for me to understand but… I loved her." I turn to him. "She was my older sister. I looked up to her." I could feel myself tearing up. "And I love that she left me you." That's it. I broke. The tears fell and I leaned against his shoulder.

"I love you too, Uncle Sherlock." I said softly. He put his arm around me and leaned his head on mine.

"I know."

* * *

Finally, the cab stops in front of two identical buildings, side by side. The man turns the engine off and gets out and opens the passenger door. He looks in at Uncle Sherlock.

"Where are we?" Uncle Sherlock asks.

"You know every street in London. You know _exactly_ where we are."

"Roland-Kerr Further Education College. Why here?"

"It's open; cleaners are in. One thing about being a cabbie: you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I'm surprised more of us don't branch out."

"This'll put me off cabs for a month…" I mumble.

"And you just walk your victims in? How?" The man pulls out a gun. My eyes immediately widen and my heart starts racing again. Uncle Sherlock just rolls his eyes and looks away. "Oh, dull." I look at Uncle Sherlock like he's crazy. Which he is so it was appropriate.

"Don't worry. It gets better."

"You can't make people take their own lives at gunpoint."

"I don't. It's much better than that." He lowers the gun and I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding back. "Don't need this with you lot, 'cause you'll follow me and you'll follow him." He says as he points to Uncle Sherlock and me. He then walks away confidently. Uncle Sherlock sits for a moment.

"You're not seriously gonna follow him, are you?" I ask Uncle Sherlock. He looks at me and gets out. "Wha… Oh, bloody hell…" I say as I get out and follow him, just as the cabbie had predicted.

_**Hey guys! Thanks so much for viewing the story and reviewing! It means so much to me. I got 159 views last week on just one day! A-ma-zing! Sorry if Sherlock was a tiny bit out of character for this chapter. I had to put some sort of mushy moment in here. ;) Hope you liked the chapter and keep reviewing! You guys rock!**_


	8. Chapter 8 - The Cabbie (Part 2)

Chapter 8

We walk down numerous hallways and finally the cabbie opens a door leading to a room. He stands aside to let us in. Uncle Sherlock looks at him closely and steps inside. I follow and the cabbie steps in and shuts the door behind him. He walks over to a wall and switches the lights on. I look around to see a large classroom with long wooden benches and plastic chairs. Uncle Sherlock walks further into the room, inspecting it. I stay by the doors. I can see everything well enough anyways.

"Well, what do you think?" The cabbie asks. Uncle Sherlock raises his hands and shrugs. "It's up to you. You're the one who's gonna die 'ere." Uncle Sherlock turns to him.

"No, I'm not."

"That's what they all say." The cabbie says as he gestures to one of the benches. "Shall we talk?" He asks as he sits down in one of the chairs.

Uncle Sherlock grabs a chair, turns it around, and sits down opposite of the cabbie. The cabbie looks at me.

"Come now, Liza. Take a seat." I stare at him for a moment and look at Uncle Sherlock. He nods his head in approval and I walk over and take a seat next to Uncle Sherlock. Uncle Sherlock sighs dramatically.

"Bit risky, wasn't it? Took us away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They're not _that_ stupid. And Mrs. Hudson will remember you."

"You call that a risk? Nah." He reaches into the left pocket of his cardigan. "_This_ is a risk." He takes out a small glass bottle and puts it down on the table. I see a large capsule inside. Uncle Sherlock doesn't seem to react to it, but I start to get nervous. "Ooh, I like this bit. 'Cause you don't get it yet, do yer? But you're about to. I just have to do this." This time, he reaches into his right pocket and takes out an identical bottle with an identical capsule and sets it down next to the other bottle. "You weren't expecting that, were yer?" He leans forward. "Ooh you're going to love this."

"Love what?" He sits back.

"Sherlock 'olmes! Look at you! 'Ere in the flesh. That website of yours: your fan told me about it."

"My _fan_?"

"You are brilliant. You _are_ a proper genius. "The Science of Deduction." Now that is _proper_ thinking. Between you and me sitting 'ere, why can't people think?"

"…oy!" I say. He looks down angrily.

"Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just _think_?"

"You wanna know what I'm thinking right now?" I ask sarcastically.

"Liza." Uncle Sherlock scolds. I look at him and pout. The cabbie looks into Uncle Sherlock eyes and Uncle Sherlock looks back at him for a long moment. He narrows his eyes and makes a realization. "Oh. _I_ see. So you're a proper genius _too_." Uncle Sherlock says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Don't look it, do I? Funny little man drivin' a cab. But you'll know better in a minute. Chances are it'll be the last think you'll _ever_ know." Uncle Sherlock holds his gaze for a moment and looks down at the table.

"Okay, two bottles. Explain."

"There's a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die."

"Both bottles are of course identical."

"In every way."

"And you know which one is which."

"Course _I_ know."

"But I don't."

"Wouldn't be a game if _you_ knew. You're the one who chooses."

"Why would I? I've got nothing to go on. What's in it for me?"

"I 'avent told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one – and then, together, we take our medicine." I look at Uncle Sherlock as he starts to grin. 'Aw hell…' I think to myself. "I won't cheat. It's your choice. I'll take whatever pill you don't." Uncle Sherlock looks down at the bottles, concentrating. "Didn't expect _that_, did you, Mr. 'olmes?"

"This is what you did to the rest of them: you gave them a choice."

"And now I'm givin' _you_ one." Uncle Sherlock looks up at him. "Take your time. Get yourself together." He licks his lips in anticipation. "I want your best game."

"It's not a _game_. Its _chance_."

"I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr. 'olmes, its chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this… _this_… is the move." He uses his left hand to slide one of the bottles across the table towards Uncle Sherlock. He pulls his hand back and leaves the bottle where it is. "Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one." The cabbie looks down at the bottles and looks up at Uncle Sherlock. "You ready yet, Mr. 'olmes? Ready to play?"

"Play _what_? It's a fifty-fifty chance."

"You're not playin' the numbers, you're playin' _me_. Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double-bluff? Or a _triple_-bluff?"

"Still just chance."

"Four people in a row? It's not just chance."

"Luck."

"Its genius. I know 'ow people think." Uncle Sherlock rolls his eyes. 'Wow, self-confident much?' I think to myself. "I know 'ow people think _I_ think. I can see it all, like a map inside my 'ead. Everyone's so stupid – even you." I see Uncle Sherlock gaze sharpen. "Or maybe God just loves me." Uncle Sherlock straightens and leans forward. He folds his hands on the table in front of him.

"Either way, you're _wasted_ as a cabbie." He lifts his folded hands up in front of his mouth and gazes at the cabbie. "So you risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why?" The cabbie nods down to the bottles.

"Time to play." Uncle Sherlock unfolds his fingers and puts his hands in a prayer position in front of his mouth.

"Oh I am playing. This is _my_ turn. There's shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody's pointed it out to you. Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there's no-one to tell you. But there's a photograph of children. The children's mother has been cut out of the picture. If she'd died, she'd still be there. You think of your children but you don't get to see them." The cabbie looks away from Uncle Sherlock. I can almost see the pain in his eyes. "Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them and it _still_ hurts." He extends his index fingers. "Ah, but there's more." The cabbie looks back at Uncle Sherlock. "Your clothes: recently laundered but everything you're wearing's at least… three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's _that_ about?" The cabbies expression is blank as he stares at Uncle Sherlock. Suddenly, Uncle Sherlock's eyes widen as he makes another deduction. "Ahh. Three years ago – is that when they told you?" Uncle Sherlock asks softly.

"Told me what?" I look at Uncle Sherlock.

"That you're a dead man walking."

"So are you."

"You don't have long, though. Am I right?" The cabbie smiles.

"Aneurism." He raises his right hand and taps the side of his head. "Right in 'ere." Uncle Sherlock smiles in satisfaction. "Any breath could be my last." Uncle Sherlock frowns.

"And because you're dying, you've just murdered four people."

"I've _outlived_ four people. That's the most fun you can _'ave_ on an aneurism."

"No. No, there's something else. You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children." Uncle Sherlock says thoughtfully. The cabbie looks away and sighs.

"Ohh." He looks at Uncle Sherlock. "You _are_ good, aint you?"

"But _how_?"

"When I die, they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs."

"Or serial killing."

"You'd be surprised."

"Surprise me." The cabbie leans forward.

"I 'ave a sponsor." I look at Uncle Sherlock confused.

"You have a what?"

"For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think."

"Who'd sponsor a serial killer?"

"Who'd be a fan of Sherlock 'olmes?" The both stare at each other for a moment. "You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, except you're just a man… and they're so much more than that." I look over at Uncle Sherlock as his nose twitches in distaste.

"What d'you mean, _more_ than a man? An organization? What?"

"There's a name no-one says, an' I'm not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter." The cabbie nods towards the bottles. "Time to choose." Uncle Sherlock looks at the bottles, observing each one.

"What if I don't choose either? We _could_ just walk out of here." The cabbie sighs and pulls out a pistol and points it at me.

"Oh, God…" I gasp.

"You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot both of you in the head." Uncle Sherlock smiles. "Funnily enough, no-one's ever gone for that option."

"We'll have the gun please."

"What?" I ask in shock.

"Are you sure?"

"No, no he's not, he's crazy. Uncle Sherlock!" I say frantically.

"Definitely. The gun."

"You don't want to phone a friend?" Uncle Sherlock smiles confidently.

"The gun." I look frantically at Uncle Sherlock and the cabbie.

"Uncle Sherlock…" The cabbie flexes his finger, I close my eyes, and prepare myself. I hear a click, but nothing happens. I open my eyes to find a flame coming out of the end of the gun. "What the…" I say. Uncle Sherlock smiles smugly.

"I know a real gun when I see one." I turn and smack Uncle Sherlock in the arm. Hard.

"I didn't! What the hell is wrong with you?" I yell.

"Ow." Uncle Sherlock flinches. "Calm down. It was obviously a fake."

"None of the others knew." The cabbie says.

"Clearly. Well, this has been _very_ interesting. I look forward to the court case."

"If you make it till then…" I say darkly. Uncle Sherlock stands up and walks towards the door. The cabbie puts the 'gun' down on the desk and looks at me. I laugh nervously and get up and follow Uncle Sherlock.

"Just before you go, did you figure it out…" Uncle Sherlock stops at the door and half turns around to him.

"Uncle Sherlock don't. Just walk away."

"…which ones the good bottle?"

"Of course. Childs play."

"Well, which one, then?" Uncle Sherlock opens the door slightly.

"Just ignore him. You don't need to prove yourself." I say to him.

"Which one would you 'ave picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you." Uncle Sherlock closes the door and I sigh and roll my eyes. The cabbie chuckles. "Come on. Play the game." Unfortunately, Uncle Sherlock starts walking towards him. He gets to the table, sweeps up the bottle nearest to the cabbie, and walks past him. The cabbie looks down at the bottle that was left behind. "Oh. Interesting." The cabbie picks up the bottle as Uncle Sherlock looks at the one he has in his hands. The cabbie opens his bottle, takes out the capsule, and observes it. Uncle Sherlock examines his still in the bottle. "So what d'you think?" He says as he looks up at Uncle Sherlock. "Shall we? _Really_, what do you think?" The cabbie asks. He stands up and faces Uncle Sherlock. "Can you beat me? Are you clever enough to bet your life?"

"No, he's stupid enough. Uncle Sherlock don't do it." I say, still at the door.

"I bet you get bored, don't you? I _know_ you do. A man like you…" Uncle Sherlock undoes the lid of the bottle. "…so clever. But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it?" Uncle Sherlock takes out the capsule and holds it towards the light to look at it more closely. "Still the addict." Uncle Sherlock slowly lowers the pill, looking at it at eye level. "But this… _this_ is what you're really addicted to, innit?" Uncle Sherlock continues to stare at the pill.

"Uncle Sherlock… please. Don't listen to him." I plea.

"You'd do anything… anything at all… to stop being bored." Uncle Sherlock slowly moves the pill closer to his mouth as the cabbie does the same.

"…Please…" I say, tears forming in my eyes.

"You're not bored now, are you?" I look away. "Innit good?"

Suddenly I hear a gunshot and I scream. I look back to see the cabbie laying on the ground and Uncle Sherlock turn and look at the window. He hurries over to the window and looks through it. I run over to where the cabbies lying.

"Jesus…" I gasp and look away. I don't have much of a stomach for gunshot wounds.

The cabbie suddenly breathes heavily and coughs. Uncle Sherlock turns back and watches as the cabbie gasps and coughs in pain. He snatches up a pill lying down on the desk, kneels down, and holds it in front of the cabbies face.

"Was I right? I was, wasn't I? Did I get it right?" The cabbie stays silent and Uncle Sherlock angrily hurls the pill across the room and stands up. "Okay, tell me this: your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me – my 'fan'. I want a name."

"No." The cabbie says weakly.

"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me a name." I look and the cabbie shakes his head. Uncle Sherlock angrily lifts his foot and puts it on the cabbies shoulder. The cabbie gasps in pain. I turn away again and put my hands over my ears. "A _name_." He says as the cabbie cries out in pain. "_Now_." I can only assume that Uncle Sherlock applied more pressure on his shoulder because I heard him whimper in pain. "The _NAME_!" Uncle Sherlock yells furiously.

"MORIARTY!" The cabbie screams in agony. I pause and turn back, uncovering my ears. I look at Uncle Sherlock in shock. He mouths, what looks like the word 'Moriarty', to himself. He looks at me and his expression turns from confused to almost apologetic. I look back at him.

"You're a bloody idiot." At that, I walk out the door.

_**Well, we're almost done. :( But have no fear! A new story is near! ...Okay that was kinda lame. But i am thinking of doing a short backstory on Liza and we finally get to meet Sarafina. :O So keep reviewing and following and liking and stuff and ill get right on it!**_


	9. Chapter 9 - Reunited

_****I do not own Sherlock! I only own Liza and Sarafina Holmes!****_

Chapter 9

Sometime later, Uncle Sherlock and I are sitting on the back of an ambulance as a paramedic examines me for the thousandth time. I look at the paramedic.

"Im _fine_." She looks up at me and gives me an incredulous look, gets up, and walks away. Then another paramedic comes up from behind Uncle Sherlock and drapes an orange blanket over his shoulders. I see Lestrade coming towards us and I giggle as Uncle Sherlock gestures towards the blanket.

"Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me."

"Yeah, its for shock."

"Im not _in_ shock."

"Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs." Lestrade grins as Uncle Sherlock rolls his eyes. "How are you doing, Liza?" Lestrade asks me.

"Fine. Just a little pissed off…" I say as I glare at Uncle Sherlock. Lestrade laughs.

"Yep. Shes good." Uncle Sherlock changes the subject.

"So, the shooter. No sign?"

"Cleared off before we got 'ere. But a guy like that would have enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but…" He shrugs. "…got nothing to go on." Uncle Sherlock looks pointedly at him.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Lestrade rolls his eyes.

"Okay, gimme." Uncle Sherlock stands up and begins.

"The bullet they just dug out of the walls from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly hes acclimatized to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service…" As hes talking, hes looking around and stops as he sees John standing behind the police tape. "…and nerves of steel…" I get up, throw my blanket into the back of the ambulance, and run over to him.

"John!" He looks at me and opens his arms and gives me a hug.

"Hey, you." I hug him back. "You alright? Gotta be a lot to take in, huh?" I look at him.

"I know it was you." I whisper. He pulls away a little as I smirk at him.

"You saw me?"

"No. I just knew it was you. Who else could have made a shot like that?" He chuckles.

"No one! And don't forget it." I laugh and hug him again. Uncle Sherlock walks towards us. I can still hear part of Uncle Sherlock and Lestrades conversation.

"Where're you going?"

"I just need to talk about the-the rent."

"But ive still got questions for you and Liza." Uncle Sherlock turns back to Lestrade in irritation.

"Oh, what _now_? Im in shock! Look, ive got a blanket!" He brandishes the blanket at Lestrade.

"Sherlock!"

"_And_ I just caught you a serial killer… more or less." Lestrade looks at Uncle Sherlock for a moment.

"Okay. We'll bring you two in tomorrow. Off you go." Uncle Sherlock walks away and Lestrade smiles. Uncle Sherlock takes the blanket off of his shoulders, balls it up, and tosses it into an open police car. He ducks under the tape and walks towards us. John lets me go and I watch as Uncle Sherlock and John reunite.

"Um, Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything, the two pills. Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful." Uncle Sherlock looks at him for a moment.

"Good shot." He says quietly. John tries to look innocent.

"Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window."

"Well, _you'd_ know." John gazes up at him. "Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but lets avoid the court case." John clears his throat and looks around nervously. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, of course im alright."

"Well, you _have_ just shot a man."

"Yes, I…" He starts. Uncle Sherlock looks at him closely. "That's true, innit?" John smiles and Uncle Sherlock continues to stare longingly at him watch him closely. "But he wasn't a very _nice_ man." Uncle Sherlock nods in agreement.

"No. No, he wasn't really, was he?"

"And frankly a bloody awful cabbie." Uncle Sherlock chuckles and I smile. Uncle Sherlock turns and leads us away as he speaks.

"That's true. He _was_ a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!" John and I giggle and Uncle Sherlock smiles.

"Stop! Stop, we cant giggle, it's a crime scene! Stop it!"

"You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me."

"Keep your voice down!" John scolds as we walk past Donovan. "Sorry – its just, um, nerves, I think." John says to Donovan and Uncle Sherlock apologizes. John clears his throat as we walk away. "You were gonna take that damned pill, weren't you?" Uncle Sherlock turns to him.

"Course I wasn't. Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up." I snort.

"No you didn't. Its how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever."

"_Exactly!_" I cut in.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're an idiot." John says. Uncle Sherlock smiles. After a moment, his smile fades.

"Dinner?"

"Starving."

"Yeah, me too. I was especially hungry when he was pointing a gun at my head." I sarcastically comment.

"You pointed a gun at her head?!" John asks Uncle Sherlock.

"No, the cabbie. But, kinda the same thing I guess." I cut in.

"I told you, I _knew_ it was fake."

"Yeah, but _I_ didn't!"

"For Gods sake…" Uncle Sherlock starts.

"Sherlock, drop it." John scolds. We both sigh. A moment passes and we start walking again.

"End of Baker Street, theres a good Chinese stays open 'till two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle." As Uncle Sherlock was speaking, a car pulls up a few yards ahead of us. 'The man' gets out and John stares.

"Sherlock. That's him. That's the man I was talking to you about." Uncle Sherlock looks at 'the man'.

"I know _exactly_ who that is." He walks closer to 'the man' and stops and looks at him angrily.

"So, another case cracked. How very public spirited… though that's never really your motivation, is it?" 'The man' says pleasantly to Uncle Sherlock.

"What are you doing here?"

"As ever, im concerned about Liza. And of course you." As he says my name, John steps in front of me protectively. I roll my eyes.

"Yes, ive been hearing about your 'concern'."

"Always so aggressive. Did it ever occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?"

"Oddly enough, no!"

"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer… and you know how it always upset Mummy." John frowns.

"_I_ upset her? Me? It wasn't _me_ that upset her, Mycroft."

"No, no, wait. Mummy? Who's mummy?"

"Mother – our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft." John stares in amazement. 'The man', my uncle Mycroft, looks at me.

"How are you fairing, Liza? Get my message?" I roll my eyes.

"Yes. Very clever by the way…" I say sarcastically. He looks at Uncle Sherlock.

"She always was more like you."

"Putting on weight again?" Uncle Sherlock changes the subject.

"Losing it, in fact."

"Hes your _brother_?!" I roll my eyes and do a face-palm.

"Of _course_ hes my brother."

"So he's not…"

"Not what?" Uncle Sherlock and Uncle Mycroft look at John expectantly as John shrugs in embarrassment.

"I dunno – criminal mastermind." He grimaces and Uncle Sherlock looks at Uncle Mycroft disparagingly.

"Close enough."

"For goodness sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government."

"He is the British government, when hes not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis." Uncle Mycroft sighs. "Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic." Uncle Sherlock says and walks away. John starts to follow but turns back to Uncle Mycroft who's watching Uncle Sherlock as he walks away.

"So when-when you say you're concerned about him, you actually are concerned." John asks.

"Yes, of course."

"I mean, it actually is a childish feud?"

"He's always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners."

"Yeah… no. God, no!" John says.

"You don't want to know…" I say and cringe.

"I-I'd better, um…" John turns back to 'Anthea' whos standing nearby _still_ on her stupid phone. "Hello again." She looks up and smiles.

"Hello."

"Yes, we-we met earlier on this evening." She stares at him like shes never seen him before.

"Oh!"

"Okay, goodnight." He glances at Uncle Mycroft, then turns and follows Uncle Sherlock.

"Good night, Doctor Watson." Uncle Mycroft says. He turns to me. "Good night, Liza."

"Uh huh." I say and walk away. I catch up to Uncle Sherlock and John.

"So: dim sum."

"Mmm! I can always predict the fortune cookies."

"No you cant."

"Once. You did it once." I cut in.

"Well, almost can. You did get shot, though."

"Sorry?"

"In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound."

"Oh, yeah. Shoulder."

"Shoulder! I thought so."

"No you didn't."

"The left one."

"Lucky guess."

"I never guess." John laughs.

"Yes you do." Uncle Sherlock smiles. John looks over at him. "What are you so happy about?"

"Moriarty."

"Whats Moriarty?"

"Ive absolutely no idea." Uncle Sherlock says cheerfully.

"See. You don't know everything." I say to Uncle Sherlock. He just smiles and claps a hand onto my shoulder.

"I _do_ know that I have the capability to send you to live with Uncle Mycroft at any given time." He leans down and whispers into my ear. I laugh nervously and look up at Uncle Sherlock.

"I love you, Uncle Sherlock." I say sweetly. John and Uncle Sherlock laugh and we keep walking towards the restaurant.


	10. Author's Note

Author's Note

Hey everyone! Well, my last chapter for this story is up. Hope you've all gotten a chance to read it. If not, hope you enjoy it. I just wanted to write this quick note to thank everyone who's read my story. It means so much to me. I love hearing all the reviews you guys post and I love logging onto my account to see 1,042 views on it. You guys are awesome! So like I said in earlier chapters, I have started on a little background story for Liza. It's going to go through different stages of Liza's life up to where A Study in Pink started. I'm going to try not to make it as long of a story though. Just enough to get you caught up and know a little bit more about Liza and Sarafina Holmes. So, I hope you liked the story and keep your eyes open for a new story.

Thanks everyone!

-jam-kittens-rage


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